


Warmth

by Niira



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Fantasy/Adventure, Hammond and Orisa and Bastion are all safe, I will warn for graphic content where necessary, Love Triangles Probably, Multi, Romance, Slow Burn, Think Enchanted Forests and Ancient Castles, also don't worry, alternative universe, some horror elements, there will be smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:00:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24068506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niira/pseuds/Niira
Summary: “Be careful when you cast out your demons that you don’t throw away the best of yourself.”― Friedrich Nietzsche
Relationships: Genji Shimada/Tekhartha Zenyatta, Jesse McCree/Original Character(s), Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 1





	1. A Wood, A Castle, A Man

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first fic-writing endeavor in several years, so I hope you enjoy it! <3

Daybreak cast narrow ribbons of sunlight through prattling leaves and winding branches. Sage and frostmerry clung to the afternoon air, thick with spice and earth. A twig snapped beneath the boot of a traveler. The agile figure disrupted an ocean of green, pacing quickly along an unorthodox path through the unruly thicket. Stopping gave anything behind her the opportunity to strike; and there was something. In the dark wood of Den-Raghor, there was always something.

A dense linen hood pitched shadows over soft features, slate eyes shifting between her next move and the tightly-rolled parchment at her belt. Outstretched thorny twigs and flexible, whip-like branches left tiny lacerations along the bare skin of her upper arms. A thorn impaled her bicep and she winced, but pushed forward. The thicket relented, opening into a grassy valley dotted in sparse trees, the occasional boulder, and an abundance of varying flora. In the distance, mossy stone walls protruded from the curtain of massive trees.

A narrow dirt path wound to the fortress entrance, its stone walls high enough to dispel any hope of sneaking a preemptive peek inside. Weather-battered steel adorned the goliath front gates, which the woman approached with cautious optimism. “Hel-Hello?” Her voice broke halfway through her first substantially-spoken word in days. “Dr. Ziegler told me to show my contract at the gate, so uh, here it is?” Era yanked the rolled parchment from her belt and flashed it toward a barred slat in the gate. She teetered in place, fingers crossed at her side that this was, in fact, the correct mysterious stone castle in the center of a forest ripe with magic. 

The weighty creak of shifting wood sliced through a momentary silence. Era jumped at the thunderous clanking of chains and the screech of rusted metal as the gate doors slid open. Shallow dust clouds dissipated as she approached the impressive threshold. A behemoth of a man lingered in the archway, a hearty laugh rendering his eyes closed and bright smile visible. “She got here before nightfall! I believe that means I’ve won,” he let out with a triumphant guffaw. 

The petite blonde to his right kissed the back of her teeth and handed over a shiny red apple. A woven basket packed with fruits and vegetables dangled from her slender forearm. “And now that we’ve set the bar of standards on the ground, hello!” The radiance of her smile was almost alarming. “Miss Ardytia, yes?” Era nodded. “I’m Dr. Ziegler and this is my compatriot, Reinhardt Wilhelm.” 

Said man enthusiastically boomed an elongated, “Hello!” The pale scars of ancient burns and slashes striped his visible skin. The sleeves of his tunic had clearly been shortened and tailored to free sizable forearms and patch tears in the fabric. Reinhardt’s smile elicited a bashful one from Era, who actively avoided blatantly ogling the man for his sheer size.

A flash of pink crossed her cheeks, dotted in freckles and specks of dirt from the road. “It’s a pleasure,” Era bowed her head to them both, loose braid shedding several dead leaves. A nervous giggle shot from her throat as her disheveled state registered to her. “Sorry, I think I took your advice to avoid the main road a little too seriously.” 

“Your safe arrival is all that matters,” she started, ushering Era further inside, “Even if you stick to the road, it deviates into a pond eventually anyway.” The basket across her arm drooped, sliding down the sleeve of her pale underdress until she gripped the handle and offered it up. “For you! Some fruits from our garden. If you’re hungry, help yourself while I show you to your quarters.” 

Angela turned her gaze to Reinhardt, who unceremoniously crunched into his victory apple. “Stay out of trouble,” she shot at him with a threateningly friendly smile. Reinhardt took a larger bite this time, smug as ever, and began to hum to himself as they descended into the castle grounds.

Goldenrod poppies lined an ivory dirt road, carving its way up the expanse of the vast courtyard. A series of hedges marked the entrance to an enclosed rose garden just to the left of the main gate. “There are several gardens on the premises. That one is a work in progress,” she explained, “What we don’t send for on supply runs, we grow, hunt, or make ourselves.” 

Where the decommissioned garden’s hedge walls ended, a man-made pond resided. Neon red koi glimmered in its shallows, feeding from the scraps of an afternoon treat. Era could swear the tips of their tails glowed, but it must have been a trick of the sunlight. 

Just beyond the pond was a small expanse of grass home to a fully loaded fire pit and several chairs strewn about it. A hefty log, polished and clean, acted as a bench not far from the gathering space. “When the sky is clear and the weather is fair, some of us gathe” Her voice was light, airy, touched by an accent Era could listen to for days. “Otherwise the residents mostly keep to themselves. As I’ll be having you assist me, most everyone has some kind of daily or weekly duties to tend to.” 

Era nodded along with the good doctor, stifling a yawn. Attempting to meaningfully engage in conversation felt futile as the traveler closed in on 36 hours without proper rest. The last energy tincture in her system faded some time ago. Only adrenaline and the sweet juice of a fresh apricot powered her now. “Are all of my duties listed in my contract?” she asked, palming the paper she tucked beneath several carrots in the basket. If there was more to do, she didn’t mind. Having a safe place to rest was more than worth the labor. 

Angela guided them onto a thinner offshoot of the main road, lined by infant violets and blooming daisies. Proud Den-Raghor trees, referred to as aspaves, loomed in increasing numbers, framing a small cottage at the foot of the grassy knoll. Distant castle walls disrupted the well-groomed treeline. It was a regular garden of giants. 

Lantern light flickered from the inside of the L-shaped cottage, its archway double-doors a smaller iteration of the front gate. Angela finally replied as they closed in on a series of quaint stepping stones. “So long as you keep our inventory of tinctures and medicines stocked to my specifications, your schedule is yours. I imagine you’ll have enough on your plate just settling in, so one step at a time.”

“Fair enough,” Era murmured, eyeing the metal bars over a small security slat in the door. 

A dreamy look crossed the blonde’s soft blue eyes, fingers idly toying with a heavy key on a tightly-braided leather cord. Angela slipped the ornate key into the door, a satisfying click sounding as the mechanism relented. “Hopefully this will suffice for both living quarters and an adequate work station,” she proposed, remaining in the doorway while Era entered. 

What tension remained in Era’s stomach dropped entirely from beneath her. Her brows rose, watching as her employer handed her the ornate key. It’s heavier than it looks, she thought. “So is anyone else living here too or is this whole thing... mine?”

“Entirely yours,” replied the doctor, “I know it isn’t exactly the lap of luxury, but it’s--”

Era’s jaw hung open as she blurted, “It’s perfect, truly,” She paused, stale saliva threatening to clog her throat. Kindnesses were often lost on her, but not this one. “Thank you.”

Angela clapped her hands together, intertwining her fingers. “Excellent! I’ll leave you to it, then. Rest well,” she relayed with a satisfied gleam. Before fully shutting the front door behind her, she added, “If you’re up for it, dinner in the great hall is just after six every evening. Just follow the sound of Reinhardt’s voice. Otherwise, breakfast is served just after first light, but his laugh should still guide you.” 

Era nodded, watching as Angela’s dainty hand slipped away from the door. It clicked shut behind her, leaving the traveler alone with her thoughts. Decompression squeezed a long breath from the traveler’s chapped lips, tired eyes taking comfort in the sight of fire and a locking door. 

Twenty-four hours ago, a carrier pigeon swept through a cozy loft window. It carried a simple response from Angela concerning the arrangement of Era’s employment at the mysterious and unheard-of Castle Moore. The contract itself was brief, but final: In exchange for protection and living amenities, Era would contribute her expertise as a potions expert and touch-based healer--effective immediately. The contract itself offered escape from a dire escalation in threat. 

As a widespread climate of anti-magic spread across Europe, the occasional bad seeds were no longer the only targets for social retribution. Pacifists, philosophers, healers; anyone could fall victim to any number of organizations preaching human superiority while slaughtering upstanding members of society. 

In the last decade, organizations dedicated to protecting the magically-inclined began to drive whole chapters of self-proclaimed “Demon Hunters” out of major holds. Still, rumors persisted of underground organizations sending clandestined assassins to eliminate targets they feel are a threat. 

The woman slumped forward, rubbing her temple as she turned to face the open room. The stone floors were freshly-swept and worn smooth from decades--or perhaps centuries--of wear. Era crossed the new lab and stepped up onto a level of raised floor, leading to the humble kitchen. A small wooden crate of cutlery and tools sat atop the polished wood counter. A wide window, latch closed and locked, overlooked the darkening bundle of aspaves growing behind the cottage. 

Era shuddered, sliding the dusty green curtains shut. Something in her gut refused to fully relax. She attributed her unease to lack of sleep and brushed it off, eager to finally rest. To the right of the kitchen was a red doorway leading into a small bedroom. A stained glass lamp matching the one in the foyer illuminated the warm space, walls adorned in faded murals depicting rolling purple clouds, crimson gusts of wind, and faded gold stars. Dense green curtains were already drawn over the closed windows, security-barred with iron in the shapes of winding flourishes. 

A sturdy leather satchel clung to the traveler’s hip, fastened by a strap at the thigh to secure it as she moved. She eyed the spacious bed and its layers of blankets and furs, sliding the garter down her leg to step out of the contraption. Era turned out her bags, purses, and pockets onto the bed, intending to sort through her stock of last-minute supplies; but the soothing warmth of a soft, dense pelt and the light crackle of a small corner fireplace lured her into lying down. Just rest your eyes for a moment, she thought, and slipped into a dreamless sleep. 

\--

Pin-point nails flipped precariously through glass bottles dwarfing tiny paws, contents clanging together. Era stirred, indentations from the pelt beneath her leaving creases striping the side of her face. The woman blinked, blurred vision clearing toward the source of the noise. 

“What the--” her voice hitched, eyes wide and fixated on the strange movements coming from her baggage pile. She instinctively shot for the hunting knife not six inches from her left. 

A particularly round creature wiggled backward from the pile, its body half-submerged in its dive through her personal effects. Tiny paw-pads squirmed until a plump arm pushed the oversized rodent out from beneath a heavy cloak. Fat, fluffy cheeks accompanied the face of what Era could swear was some kind of giant gerbil--or perhaps the closest thing to a wombat she might ever see without leaving the continent. 

While its particular cuteness struck her as odd, and its predatory survivability seemed low by appearance, she still lingered with knife drawn and stiff legs awaiting confrontation. But it peered up at her with curious, beady eyes, as though it too were weighing its options. “Uh… Hi there, little guy,” she awkwardly cooed, not daring to step closer. “Could you put my suff down, please?”

She had its attention captured. It watched her, standing cautiously still, catching her scent and intensely sniffing. Audible squeaks rocketed through its tiny jaws, head tilting as it leaned forward. “You’re sort of adorable,” she murmured. It chirped right back, holding one of her hair pins--inconsequential, though convenient. 

“Dammit, Hammond,” a gruff voice boomed from just beyond the front door. She caught only the garbled outline of each word, but the combination of masculine pitch and harsh tone peaked her nerves. The same registered for her little guest, whose marble eyes widened. “You little varmint bastard,” the voice continued, growing near and louder at rapid pace. “When I catch you, you’re gettin’ gutted and stuffed!” 

Hammond peered up at her in inquiry, chirps softening into a series of half-whispered sound fragments and an almost worried series of glances for a place to hide. Her brow twitched in bewilderment, but she stood silent, watching the creature as it considered slipping back beneath her cloak. “Hey,” she murmured, “Do you… You understand us?” 

She felt silly asking, but the creature’s attentive nod and confirming squeaks answered several questions at once. “And he’s looking for you?” A rapid series of nods. 

A fist slammed against the rattling front doors as Era quietly approached, tiny friend burrowing beneath a thin layer of pre-packed clothing. “I know you’re holed up in there,” the daunting voice raged, threatening to shake the walls, “If I gotta smoke you out, it’ll be my goddamn pleasu--”

The door opened with a swish, revealing a befuddled lumberjack wearing a giant, goofy scarf and a worn leather hat. Red streaked scruffy cheeks, his thick brow contorting as he assessed the face staring inquisitively back at him. “If you didn’t want my services,” Era started, a sense of smugness dancing fervently with the playful half-smile at her lips, “You could have just said so.” She wore playing stupid well.

“I--I’m--” A metallic arm jerked forward to remove his hat, nearly crushing it against his broad chest. He bowed his head, the defined ridge of his hat cutting into disheveled brown locks that hung low over his eyes.

Before he could squeeze out a garbled word, Era cracked a half-smile and chuckled. “Can I help you? You seem,” a short paused, “downright pissed.” 

A hand shot to the back of his neck, where he rubbed the base of his skull with calloused fingers. The reflex calmed him momentarily, embarrassment filtering his quick tongue. “Unless you’ve seen an overgrown hamster makin’ off with some steel bolts, I’m not sure what t’tell you.” His drawl was unusual to her, a vocalization of the scent of cinnamon; the biting heat of a summer sun on bare skin; the prickle of grass blades in a field of wildflowers. 

Goosebumps tickled Era’s forearms, disrupting layers of scratches and knicks. “Y’know, the concept of a giant hamster sounds too cute to--uh--’gut and stuff’.” Her reply was frank, careful to dance the line of ignorance. “But I’m trying to understand. This giant rodent… Stole from you?” 

A second wave of crimson tinted the man’s face before a delayed laugh poured into the blistery air. The corners of his thin lips upturned into a hopeless grin, the dramatically sharp curvature of a set of canines apparent. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” his gravelly voice relayed, “The name’s Jesse. You’re the new doc, right?” He let out an elongated whistle and dropped his hand from his neck, resting it atop an ornate rose belt buckle. 

“The little thief I’m huntin’ down is Hammond.” He accentuated his target’s name with hard consonants. “Little bastard likes to hijack tools I ordered. Not like I need ‘em,” he raised his voice, shouting around him as if Hammond was just over one of his shoulders, actively listening, “to have a functioning forearm or anything!” (And in all fairness, said thief was actively scurrying out of a back window as they spoke, making off with devious squeaks of triumph and one of Era’s hair pins.)

The playful glint dropped from the woman’s features, eyes lined by naturally dark circles settling on the complex prosthetic that acted as a working arm. Jesse followed the path of her eyes and flexed his fingers, tapping them in sequence over the steel of his belt buckle while returning his hat to his head. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, battling a pang of guilt. She had seen prosthetics before, but not at this level of quality and complexity.

Jesse’s breathing halted, watching her fixate on his arm, and considered hiding it beneath his loosely-slung serape. But there was something comforting in the way her lips twitched to outlines of unspoken words, watching her train of thought chug steadily along, and he found himself extending his hand to show her. “It’s good work, ain’t it?” His voice was lower, calmer, almost subdued.

“I wonder,” she murmured, and met skin with metal for a handshake. An impending theory quickly fizzled, disrupted mid-thought by the rise of her hand to meet his lips. He kissed the ridge of her knuckle, grazing a half-healed scratch from the wood, and watched as her lips parted in a soft gasp. 

He thought this was just a textbook swoon and considered flashing a wolfish grin, but his joints began noticeably tingling. Era herself staggered a half-step backward, florid face clashing with the budding red splotches heating at her neckline. “I’m so sorry,” she mumbled, tracing her fingers over her left forearm as if to ensure it was still there. “I didn’t think you’d--I--Wow,” self-loathing laced a sharp chuckle. 

“I’m Era,” she proclaimed, “And you have a hell of an immune system.”

Jesse studied her, utterly befuddled, but intrigued. “Now what was all that?” 

“Well, I was curious about whether or not I could tell through your prosthetic, but you kissed me,” she explained, tripping over her own words like a fool. Any more blood to her face and she might actually pass out. “I mean, I touched your skin. It’s why Dr. Ziegler asked me here in the first place--Imean--Not about you, but because I can give medical exams from the inside out… Sort of.” 

With any other resident, he might have made a remark about giving “exams” from the inside out, but her scrambling to explain herself made most of the jokes for him. He watched her fumble over herself, not daring to cut his morning entertainment short. “She told us a little bit about you,” he finally drawled, a crooked half-smirk lazily painting his lips. “Welcome. An’ if you need anythin’, you can holler any time.”


	2. Floating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No warnings!

The Great Hall dining room was a surprisingly open area, directly against and exposed to a lush vegetable garden at the heart of the castle. Several skylights flooded the room in natural light. A dove cooed, bobbing its head in pursuit of stray crumbs left over from breakfast. Era sat at one of the two long, wide dining tables, hair damp after a much-needed bath. She scrawled graphite notes in a leatherbound journal, opposite Dr. Ziegler, who sipped tea from an aggressively spiked goblet. 

In handwriting legible only to her, Era scribbled down a series of salves and their corresponding recipes. She would occasionally pass the list to the doctor, who would remark with concise modifications, and their cycle would continue.

“Goldenseal, barberries, and verbena all grow in the Den,” Angela continued a lengthy explanation, attempting to outline a number of flora and their approximate locations. After a short pause, the blonde shifted in her seat. Her long fingers laced together and she studied the newcomer’s face with cautious optimism. 

“About the Den itself,” Angela’s voice trailed off, softening, “It would be irresponsible for me not to warn you, or at least caution you.” A short pause. The good doctor’s gaze was unmoving, firm, but her voice wavered. “The myths and legends surrounding the Den have a grain of truth to them. I cannot recommend going beyond the Moore’s walls without someone with you, but I also cannot stop you.”

Era silently watched, attentive though transparent in her caution. To believe that this spur-of-the-moment arrangement came without flaws would be foolish. Perhaps she was a little cynical, anticipating far worse. “I understand,” she replied, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Dr. Ziegler hesitated to continue, so Era piped up. “I had actually meant to ask,” she started, “Because I came from Lilliveth, I was always too far from the Den to hear more than drunken tavern stories. Do you know why Den-Raghor is so abundant with magic?”

“I’m afraid not,” Angela replied and took a sip of tea. “But from experience, I do know that the landscape itself likes to change and the paths themselves rarely stay the same, hence why my directions to get here were unorthodox. It’s clear there’s a certain quality to it, but outside of that? I doubt anyone living would know.” 

The other woman leaned back in her chair, wood creaking as Era nodded. “I swear… It felt like I was being watched the entire way here,” she spoke frankly. “But if the forest itself is indeed a living thing on its own, that would explain it. Curious.”

“Curious indeed. You very well may have been watched,” Angela continued. “Just by what, well... There’s a lot to the wood--dire wolves, dire bears. I was even once attacked by a dire toad, but it was but a case of mistaken identity.” Dr. Ziegler’s delighted little smile could ease pain more than any number of magics. “The point is,” her tone returned to its previous forwardness, “If you decide to go out alone, keep your wares about you and don’t wander too far.”

It was unlike Angela to lose track of time. Ribbons of sunlight crept across the table while they spoke, heating the closed cover of Era’s alchemy journal to just short of being painful to the touch. “ _Verdammt. Ich habe es vergessen_ ,” the doctor softly gasped, cursing, and quickly stacked her handful of books. “Forgive me, but I told Siebren to meet us here for brunch so I might properly introduce you and get him to eat at the same time,” she explained. 

The name Siebren rang an immediate bell. “Dr. De Kuiper?” Era asked, rolling right into, “He has trouble eating?”

Angela opted to explain on their way down a long castle corridor and into the north wing. “I’m afraid so. The doctor fell sick last winter.” Her voice was matter of fact, but beneath the veneer of professional stoicism was a silent melancholy. “We had no idea what he had, only that he was in too much pain to move and it was beginning to affect his psyche. We ultimately had to perform an emergency surgery. Even now, he’s still recovering.”

Era’s jaw tightened. The very concept of undergoing or performing a surgery churned her stomach. “But he’s okay now?”

“Oh, yes, if not even less ornery lately,” she replied, leading them down a spiral stair. The air staled as their surroundings darkened, a series of large candles built into the walls illuminating their path. Era stepped lightly, tuning into her guide. “There is something you must know about Dr. De Kuiper.” Angela hesitated. “He can sometimes be unpredictable.” 

“How so?”

Slowing to a stop at the foot of the stairwell, the blonde studied Era’s hesitant expression. “Just like you and myself, Siebren too has a connection to something that roots him in a... kind of magic. His brilliant mind occasionally runs away from him.” 

“Unless he’s planning on killing and eating me, I can handle it,” the woman retorted in an effort to lighten the mood. Just as well, she hoped to avoid any secrets that might affect her tenure.

She could swear that the good doctor let out a minuscule breath of relief. Angela smiled. “Not at all. He’s a kind, sweet man. It’s just that sometimes--”

“I can be quite tricky to work with,” a baritone voice resonated through the chamber. Both women jumped, eliciting a musical chortle from their company. A mountain of a man loomed in the wide hallway ahead. The soft crackle of a lit match accompanied the sudden glow of a large black lantern in his hand, shedding low light on his sharp features.

Era let out a sharp curse followed by light, relieved laughter, thankful the hand over the sheathed knife on her belt had the good sense to wait before drawing. Someone of his stature could crush her without much of a struggle. She blinked in the darkness, attempting to get a better look at him by candlelight. Without thinking, her hushed voice remarked, “I’ve never met anyone with your stealth at your _size_. How are you so quie--”

Floating. 

Hovering inches above the floor were his bare feet, wrapped to protect the sole. The fabric of his dark trousers shifted as he glided forward. Angela took the lantern from him, hanging it on a large hook at the foot of the stair. Siebren’s sharp eyes fell on Era with unanticipated tenderness. He might have mistaken the awe in her eyes for fear had a small smile not played at the corner of her lips. He looked upon her with unspoken gratitude.

Siebren bowed, his dark hair neatly trimmed and his face clean-shaven. A perpetual five o’clock shadow added a rugged edge to his angular jaw. The intense lines of his brow could have easily slipped into piercing displeasure, but his eyes ran deep with gentility. “Welcome to our home, Ms. Ardytia.” There was a musical quality to his voice, rich and inviting.

He placed a polite kiss to the back of her hand before returning to a daunting standing--floating--height. Concealed by shadow, a blush pooled heat around the woman’s neck. “Please, call me Era,” she managed to speak. Never had another person’s presence made her feel so physically small. 

“Era it is,” he replied, the slightest hint of an accent pin-pointing his words. “And I believe earlier, Dr. Ziegler was going to expound upon Research Subject: Sigma.” 

“Sigma?” Era mumbled, glancing at Angela to avoid staring dumbly at Siebren. Intimidation and charm resulted in a case of momentary cognitive dissonance. 

Siebren gestured toward the stair, both women pivoting to accompany him. With Angela leading them up, Era stepped softly in front of Siebren, who floated directly in tow. “Much of Dr. Ziegler’s research is in regards to my paraphysical response to significant stimuli.” His explanation was practiced, each word deliberate and pronounced. “Under stress, my abilities are simultaneously heightened and increasingly erratic. We call the resulting phenomenon Sigma.”

“Your management of our medical stores will enable me to study Siebren in a safer environment,” Angela interjected. “We’re hoping to understand and potentially utilize Sigma to our benefit, but as it currently stands, we know virtually nothing about it.”

Siebren chuckled, his airy laugh resonating through the gradually illuminated chamber. “That’s not entirely true,” he proposed, proceeding to quip, “We understand more about tranquilizers and their immeasurable value than ever before.”

Era snorted at his morbidity, following Angela up and out into the castle halls. Siebren naturally floated ahead, minding the remains of ancient shredded banners tangled in the scaffolding above. Turning the corner and exiting through a large double door, they passed through what Era realized was the back half of the vegetable garden. 

While the circumstances of her employment remained tricky and disjointed at best, Era’s back was against a compelling wall. Location and its restrictions meant little as soon as Angela penned the neatly-scribed words, “... we would provide security, your own private living quarters, board, and unrestricted access to the castle libraries, laboratories, smithy, and apothecary.” Her personal autonomy was worth the risk of a sham and so far, Angela and Castle Moore seemed legitimate.

Behind the garden, a wide hallway opened directly into the larger castle courtyard. A chicken coop to their right produced a symphony of clucks and buh-gawks, a healthy population of livestock mulling about their spacious enclosure. Several dense crates of feed and tools occupied a small, otherwise vacant, stable. Deep tracks in a patch of muddy, broken ground revealed where a wagon might have been. 

“Ah, right on schedule,” Siebren announced. He laced his fingers together behind his back, floating idly as two silhouettes crossed the promenade. Both men walked in synchronization, their strides labored by the weight of their respective backpacks and accompanying canvas sacks.

Silver hair shone ivory in the afternoon light, pearlescent beneath the sun’s rays and a light layer of sweat. A black mask not unlike a muzzle covered the lower half of the man’s face, intense eyes peering at the newcomer from beneath a navy hood. “Trying to replace me?” There was enough gravel in his voice to pave the promenade. His tone was low, almost threatening, piercing blue eyes boring down into Era as though she was an intruder. 

The woman shifted, swallowing. 

He snickered. 

With one gloved hand, he pushed his hood down and unfastened the clasp holding his mask in place. It fell into a waiting hand, revealing a chiseled, scarred jawline and creased, scruffy skin. “Who do we have here, Angela?” He queried, approaching Era with dramatically less intensity. If anything, he seemed all too pleased with himself.

“Era, this is Jack Morrison,” Dr. Ziegler introduced through blatant but mild irritation. She would lecture him about intimidating new residents later, but for the moment, she was happy he backed down so quickly from the same tired bit. “Jack, this is Era Ardytia, the new grounds alchemist and healer.” 

Era shifted in place, mentally considering whether or not she happened upon a den of unusually attractive people (and whether or not she might drink from the same well and join their ranks). Meanwhile, Jack offered her his hand for a firm shake. He might have crushed several of her bones, but she did her best to give him a firm squeeze back. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she sheepishly replied, unwilling to blatantly study his handsome face. Much like Reinhardt, his scars had many stories to tell. 

Behind him, the second man departed without a word, leaving two duffel bags full of supplies in his wake. He huffed as he walked, molten honey eyes veiled beneath a heavy ebony cloak and the sharp contours of a sinister mask. Impatient strides carried him beyond the courtyard and into the castle halls. 

“ _That_ is my associate, Gabriel. Don’t mind him. The road was rough,” Jack offered. 

Era responded with a hushed, “Ah. Trust me, I understand.” As far as she was concerned, Gabriel owed her nothing. Sometimes it was easier to forgo interaction and skip directly to solitude.

Nonchalantly as possible, Siebren made a subtle sweeping motion of the hand. All three supply bags floated upward and lined up like ducklings behind him. “Will we be hearing about this particularly rough journey tonight?” he asked, shifting the duffels mid-air with another soft swish of his wrist. 

“Isn’t that why you send us for supplies?” Jack retorted, not missing a beat. He stretched one arm across his chest, then the other, and yawned. The longer he mingled, the less his adrenaline was interested in keeping him standing. He excused himself like a professional and bid the ladies adieu. 

“What’s tonight?” Era asked anyone willing to answer, fixated on watching Siebren toy with their haul. He rarely had the opportunity to show off, so he intended to soak in her reactions while she was still fresh. 

Angela responded, “On the evening those two return from supply runs, everyone eats together on the promenade. We always start at the fire pit, just before sunset. You absolutely _must_ join us.”

A shallow pang of social anxiety met Era with a bitter, pungent taste in the back of her throat. Still, she politely nodded and replied, “Of course! I’ll see you there.” 

The trio soon dispersed, leaving the traveler to stew in the pool of her own thoughts. Dry leaves crunched beneath her hastened footfalls, in time with the wind rattling the aspaves abound. Sunlight twinkled through the swaying tree branches, casting a dancing light over the humble cottage. Era slipped inside her new home, restless fingers overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information received that morning.

“Well, so far, so good,” she mumbled to herself, pacing across the sunken workspace, up the ledge, and into the kitchen. A firm tug parted the dense curtains blacking out the kitchen window. _And here I thought they might be bandits. I’m glad I was wrong. I could get used to life here if everyone else checks out tonight._ Squinting at the flood of light, she turned toward her open bedroom door. 

Upheaved personal belongings littered the top of her rumpled bed and most of the floor. A majority of the mess consisted of spilled-over herb pouches, round phials that rolled like loose marbles across the floor, and what disjointed fragments of her life she gathered before fleeing to preserve it. 

She licked her chapped lips, sliding her hands over the fabric of the only dress she owned. It was a verdant olive green, ornate cream stitching along the lowest hem of the overdress depicting birds in flight. It was the only other clothing worth taking. Otherwise, she would have to make or order what she needed on the next supply run.

Two leather buckles fastened her double-breasted vest closed. Era snaked a hand to each buckle and began the process of peeling off clothes. Her travel garb was the one ensemble she trusted for both work and a bit of adventure, but at the moment, it begged to be aired out for the night. With a night of introductions and awkward mingling ahead, it wouldn’t hurt to clean up a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Things are going to get rolling after this. c: Let me know what you think! Stay safe! <3

**Author's Note:**

> So how'd you like it? Comments are always appreciated!


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